Cursed Silver
by Shuisi
Summary: When Jem (Jamisen) Carstairs she moves to the London Institute, she meets William Herondale and they delve into the world of clockwork, demons, and otherworldly creatures. Cursed by addiction or cursed by demon, the meeting of her parabati marks the end of the world. And the beginning of a new one. Fem!Jem


Prologue

 **Disclaimer: I'm nowhere near as talented as Cassandra Clare, and if I was as half as funny as her, I would be twice as funny as I really am. Make that quadruple. Basically, I'm not her and she owns these characters.**

The first time that Will had set his eyes upon that strange girl with silver hair, was just a few months after he had arrived at the Institute. It was her arrival that dragged Will's black-stained life back into the sun.

At first, from the moment he had knocked on the looming door of the Institute, he had tried to make a nuisance of himself to everyone else. But despite his best efforts, there were times when he could still feel his old self shining through the façade of hate he desperately tried to keep up. Sometimes, he just couldn't spit out the horrible insult that brewed in his mind because he couldn't bear to see the hurt that would be plastered on everyone's faces. It was one thing to make up one's mind to make everyone hate himself, but another to have the determination and selflessness to carry it out.

After his first days, Will could still feel everyone drawing closer to him like moths to a flame, could see the heat starting to singe their wings. Residents of the Institute kept trying to crack open his shell, no matter how much Will tried to shake them off. In fact, the only success that Will had has Jessamine, and he suspected that was only because Jessamine hated anyone with angel blood running through his veins. Humans were naturally kind creatures, he had realised, and Will had taken that for granted before.

Sometimes Will wanted to spill it all out. He could feel the confession gathering on the tip of his tongue when Charlotte hugged him. He could feel it when Thomas offered to train with him, and he could definitely feel it in Sophie's warm smiles that were sent his way every time they met in the hallway. It would be easy, they would understand, and they would forgive him, they would love him.

Every time, he bit his tongue hard, because the consequences were just too dangerous, and they might not be dropping dead now, but if it carried on like this, they would be dying gruesome deaths soon. His hands would be stained with an innocent death again, blood wiped onto another body. So Will clenched his bloodstained fists and refused to touch anyone. All the pent up frustration and hurt bubbled inside him over the half year he had stayed at the Institute; he could feel the differences slowly spreading through his body, numbing his senses until he could barely remember the warmth of love.

He spent nearly all his time training, making up for the lost time since his father had refused to teach him anything about the Shadowhunter life he had run away from. The amount of broken, worn-down training equipment that had to be replaced by Charlotte was endless.

He normally sparred with Thomas, who didn't have angel blood running in his veins, but had a physique that was just as good as Will's. Will probably spent more time with Thomas than with the rest of the Institute combined, and he could start to see Thomas warming up to him. Moments like these made Will want to give in to despair as he could see that he was slowly spreading his poison to the people around him, but for a while Will didn't do anything. Because he had wanted it to last a bit more, this tentatively budding friendship. Maybe just a little longer.

That ended two weeks later. Will had been sitting on a table in the training room twirling a dagger while waiting for Thomas to show up. He was already fifteen minutes late which was rare for him, since Thomas was generally known for his punctuality. And Will was getting impatient.

Will still remembered the sight that had greeted him when he had walked into Thomas's room to try and hurry him up. He had seen Thomas, his eyes closed, with a deathly pale pallor to his skin. Sophie was in there too, mopping Thomas's forehead with a cold flannel, her kind pretty face twisted with concern, and Will had frozen at the door. It was all so similar to the images that haunted his nightmares, because Thomas was lying utterly still, not a flicker of life to be seen from his body. Thomas looked dead.

Will felt his breath shortening, his mind getting foggy. This must have been punishment, a reminder that he still had his curse, and he did not deserve to be loved. He couldn't afford it, he shouldn't have taken this burden so lightly. Will turned on his heel, but before he could flee the room, he heard weak coughing, and flung himself around to see Thomas, his body shaking with coughs, but still very much alive. Temporary relief coursed through Will's veins before the horror and severity of the situation came crashing back down on him, and he ran to the roof of the Institute as fast as he could.

When he was sitting on the cold grey slate of the Institute roof, Will caught his breath and tried to push his feelings of terror into the back of his mind. He had realised, that day, he had been careless, and he had been playing with fire at the cost of his friend's life. They were all so delicate, beautiful and flickering lights, but Will was pure darkness. And as soon as he touched them, they would snuffed out. As soon as he neared them, their fires would pale and weaken. Because in reality, what kind of goodness could lift the true evil that Will bore in his body?

Will had made a promise to himself, in the mind-numbing cold of the Institute roof, and it was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He would do his utter, complete best to push everyone away. That day, William Herondale steeled his resolve and realised half-hearted insults wouldn't be enough anymore. Because he needed, to make everyone truly hate him.

And so he led his new life. He made no mistakes, and ensured there were no cracks in his mask. Will treasured the days were he had been allowed to make connections, but stored that safely in a corner of his heart. With practise, he grew cold and cynical, and he hardened his heart until it was so icy, it burnt his chest.

It had started with Sophie, because he began scowling every time he saw her in the hallways. He tripped her when she was carrying heavy loads, hands full of dishes. He called her names, making fun of her scar. The finishing blow was the time he had found her personal diary containing her innermost secrets, including her former life and the cruelety her old master had dealt upon her. Will painted them in bright red block letters on the front walls of the Institute for Sophie to clean, but only after everyone had seen them. Sophie stopped smiling, and did her best to avoid Will at all times. And when they met on rare occasions, she glared at him. Will smiled back- a broken smile- at his success.

He hid Charlotte's important papers, and destroyed Henry's hard-worked machinery. And after Thomas had recovered from had happened to be a particularly bad case of Influenza, Will insulted Thomas for being a mere servant boy, and consistently threw new names at him relentlessly. Thomas stopped training with him.

For the first time in his life, Will was entirely alone.

It went on and on, until Will lost the meaning of life. He trained harder than he ever had before, and improved rapidly, especially since his raw battle ability was already impressive. But he hated every second of it, and threw punches listlessly. He sharpened his tongue, and build up impenetrable walls. Will fought against the rest of mankind to keep them out, but the whole time, he kept wishing for someone to beat him and get in. He was waiting for someone to find a way in.

And then, he met Jem.

The first time he set eyes upon her, he knew that she was going to be special. Because he saw her eyes staring deep into his, and he knew instantly that she had seen right through him.

Will was throwing daggers when Charlotte entered the training room. He could feel that she was in the room even without turning to see because Charlotte had that commanding aura around her. It made her impossible to not notice, even with her lack of height. He had ignored her for a while before sighing and turning to face her when he realised she wasn't going away.

"What do you want Charlotte?"

Charlotte frowned at him glancing at the wrecked room around her. She noted the daggers that dotted every single spot of the wall except for the target, and was absolutely sure Will had done that on purpose. Because there was no way that anyone on the face of the Earth could have aim that terrible.

"Will, I know that you're having a bad day, but I need you to be on your best behaviour right now," Charlotte sighed, realising that she had stated the impossible. "Or at least one of your slightly better behaviours."

"I have two settings Charlotte, and those are terrible and downright demonic." Will grinned a dark smile. "You don't really have a choice between them either."

Charlotte stared sadly at the boy in front of her. She couldn't believe the change that had occurred to Will in the past few weeks. She had thought that he was beginning to warm up to all of them, when all his inching progress came to an abrupt stop. It went steeply downhill from there. Gone was the boy with bright smiles and a happy laugh, but sometimes she wondered if he was still in there, trapped beneath suffocating layers of secrets.

"Will, please, this is very important."

Will carelessly threw another dagger that embedded itself with a resounding thud into the impossibly high roof. Charlotte stared at the trembling hilt for a few moments before returning her gaze to Will who was staring at the knife with a somewhat satisfied expression. She hadn't known a Shadowhunter who had ever managed to hurl a training dagger into the roof, it must have taken an immense amount of strength. Charlotte failed to notice the red X that the dagger had hit exactly in the centre.

Will seemed to realise that he had lost his glare, so he threw a scowl at Charlotte. "Well what is it Charlotte? Did Henry set the crypt- or better yet, himself- on fire? Do you need advice on how to deal with your idiotic husband over than to divorce him? Did you realise that Henry loves his machines thrice more than he loves you? Because we all saw it years ago." Striding out of the room, Will slammed the doors shut behind him with such force that he swore he heard a crack, before closing his eyes and leaning against them in exhaustion. He clenched his trembling fists and fought to stop shaking. He desperately hoped that the sounds he heard through the thick oak door weren't Charlotte's sobs. Will cursed under his breath and blinked hard, trying to picture anything but the image of Charlotte's horrified expression that was burnt into his eyes.

After stumbling blindly into his disastrously messy room and snagging a random book from under his unmade bed, Will left in hope of calming his wildly-beating pained heart. He made his way through the endless maze of passageways, hoping to reach his favourite reading hideout without meeting anyone in the hallway. No one in the Institute played an instrument, and such a creative talent would be likely to be scorned on upon some more traditional Shadowhunters. More survival-related hobbies such as training and studying ancient demon languages were dominant in a Shadowhunter's free time, and with the main objective of staying alive in mind, it was unknown for a Shadowhunter to take the time to learn an instrument. For this reason, the music room stayed unoccupied with thick layers of dust settling upon the abandoned instruments. It made it one of the best places for Will to stay undetected, and so far, no one had found him yet.

However, as he neared the music room under the flickering light glow of witchlight lamps, he heard sounds that were so unfamiliar in the Institute that it felt profoundly out of place. Sweet but sorrowful music drifted through the halls of the institute, and reminded Will of the taste of exquisite wine, impossibly sweet with the exciting tang of bitter aftertaste. Will could feel his own soul singing out towards the music, being hopelessly drawn in. Against better reason, with a wave of enchanted curiosity, he found himself continuing towards the music room in hopes of finding the source of the music.

Peering around the edge of the door, Will swept his gaze around the cluttered, warm room until it came to a stop upon a young girl standing beside the piano with a beautiful violin tucked under her chin.

Will stared and he couldn't help himself. The girl looked to be about the same age as him, if not a little younger. She was shorter than Will and seemed smaller still with fragile limbs. But the feature that drew Will's attention away from her unhealthily thin build was her strange colouring.

Pale porcelain skin and midnight black hair just as dark as Will's was made stranger yet by the streaks of silver threaded throughout her hair. It looked as if bright glowing ash had been sprinkled carefully on her. The silver wasn't the same as the white hair that the elderly possessed, but it cast an extremely different effect that seemed natural and abnormal at the same time.

Silver eyelashes pointed downwards, and Will found himself desperately wondering what colour her eyes were while the girl kept her eyes closed. As if she heard his thoughts, they sprang open.

Will reeled. Her pupils were a swirling mix of varying shades of brown to grey. Her eyes were huge and luminous on her startled face, and in them, Will saw a type raw pain that was well hidden and far too old for a child so young. He saw right through the carefully held expression and could feel the incredibly old aura that her eyes radiated. He saw it all because he saw it all the time. Every time he glanced in a mirror. This girl had felt pain like Will, and combined with her fragile appearance, Will felt a tug of something like a bond towards this strange girl. Something that drew him to her, and a deep emotion within him which even induced a faint sense of protectiveness in Will. It was ironic in a twisted way, that Will felt protective of a girl he was about to hurt in order to protect her.

Will did his best to shake the feelings away and felt a twinge of annoyance. How was he meant to keep up his façade if he was already feeling bound to strangers? How could he protect everyone when he didn't have the determination to keep his distance? Will cursed himself for his weak perseverance.

The girl had seemed surprised by his appearance at first, but now she composed herself. Lowering the violin and placing it in a case, she offered an unsure smile.

"Hello," she began, "I'm Jamisen Carstairs, but everyone calls me Jem."

Will hoped he didn't sound as confused as he felt because to be honest, he had no idea why this girl was standing in his favourite reading spot. "And what are you doing here precisely?"

"Did Charlotte not tell you?" Jem looked slightly puzzled. "I'm the new ward of the London Institute.

Will stood, shocked still for a few moments before cursing mentally. He knew that he should have listened to what Charlotte was about to say to him. As the weight of the words sank in, Will's heart sank along with it. Here was another human he would need to manipulate into hating him. Steeling himself mentally, he began to weave his web of hurt and lies.

"You're terrible at the violin," Will forced himself not to wince at the harsh falsehood and moulded his expression carefully into a careless smirk. "I came here to inspect the racket, since I suspected it was a demon summoning gone wrong, and that someone was being tortured with that infernal squeaking. Do you practise a lot? Because if you do, I would urge you to give up. It cannot be good for ones health to listen to such awful noises." He hoped that he had managed to make himself sound convincing, since he found it impossible to even convince himself.

"I suppose I do need practice," she answered equably, as if Will had a very valid point. "I haven't played for weeks."

Will fought the urge to groan. This girl wasn't supposed to _agree_ with him! She should be feeling hurt and angry at his insults like all the others he had pushed away. An image of Thomas's betrayed face flashed into Will's mind, and he tightened his jaw. But when he saw Jem's patient face, he couldn't bring himself to insult her. He sighed, and turned to leave. He would do this some other time.

But as Will reached the door, Will felt a hand on his arm. It felt feverish and warmed Will's cool skin, but he jerked in surprise at the sudden contact. Turning around his eyes met with Jem's apologetic ones.

"Sorry, but Charlotte didn't tell me your name."

"William Herondale. Everyone calls me Will." He replied evenly.

Jem looked at him, before smiling and extending a hand, "Nice to meet you Will." Turning around to pick up her closed violin case, she stopped beside Will in the doorway of the music room. "Could you happen to accompany me to my room?" She asked hesitantly. There was a sort of hidden panic and pain in her posture and a quickening of her breath that spurred Will to agree without thinking. He cursed mentally, but decided to be nice for a while, until he could work up the determination to insult her again.

They were almost there when it happened. The door to the bedroom was in sight to Will's relief, and the hallway was dimly lit with witchlight. Will's concern had been ever-growing through their journey which had led them up two flights of stairs, and now it rose up in a burst again as Jem coughed harshly. He could hear her breaths rising and see the visible flush that had started to set in her skin. The Institute stairs were notorious for the winding never ending-ness of them, but he had never known a Shadowhunter to become tired after two flights.

Suddenly, Jem burst into a fit of coughing, so hard that she set her violin on the floor, before covering her mouth with a handkerchief. The coughs racked her body, as she leaned against the wall, causing Will to put his hands on her shoulders, panic setting in deep inside his bones. This couldn't be happening so soon. No one could love him so shortly.

Jem seemed to be fighting coughs as she choked out words Will could barely understand. "Will. The silver box on my table."

Will sprang up and threw the door open, only a few steps away. He could see a silver box gleaming in the witchlight, and with a sinking feeling of desperation, grabbed it before placing it carefully before Jem. She opening it revealing a silvery powder that glittered dully before taking a pinch, and swallowing it. Will felt dread setting in as he spotted the handkerchief with a thick dark red stain and as Jem leaned against the wall, her eyes closed with exhaustion, he asked the question eating at his mind.

"Are you dying?"

Jem opened her eyes, and stared at Will, and he saw the answer lying in them, clear as day. She didn't need to answer, but offered him one regardless. "I suppose I am." The statement was unwavering.

Will could feel shock and hope breaking through the storm that raged through him. She was dying. He could feel horror, as the implication of it sank in, but even through those emotions, the rays of light shone through. Hope was the most powerful drug after all, and Will could feel his body coming alive, burning with the sudden passion he could feel. Maybe he could offer an excuse for he inexcusable action he was about to commit, perhaps he could pretend he wasn't the thing killing the people around him.

It was so wrong, so terrible what he was about to do, but he knew he couldn't help himself.

Will had always been so selfish.

 **So um… sorry for abandoning my old fanfic? This took me forever to write, and it's the longest chapter I've ever wrote. It's probably still not very much is it? But anyway, thanks to any Clockwork World readers who are reading this, and sorry for stopping that. But I hope you'll like this better because I do. It's probably a little more deep and angsty then what I usually write, but that's only for the prologue. The rest with probably consist of my trying to be as funny as Cassandra Clare and failing miserably. Happy New Year! It's 2016, and I will update more often as my resolution (that I probably won't stick to). By the way, I wrote the last little section at about midnight, so sorry if it's bad/confusing/sappy. Thanks to everyone reading this! Review!**

 **-musicalrainbows**


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